Pieces and Players Page 8

Petra babbled, “Very kind,” and was cut off by an icy croak:

  “Face-off — that’s what we’ve had around here!”

  “Now, Hurley,” Ms. Crunch said, sounding as if she wanted to throw his name at him.

  “Might as well be honest about it. Not enough truthful disclosure since all this happened. The fact is, we’ve been tearing each other to pieces over whether to move the museum or not,” the old man barked, looking pleased with himself. “Like a bunch of hungry jackals.” He licked his lips, which were pale.

  More like the skin of an onion than flesh, Tommy noted.

  “Excuse us, children. Passionate discussion,” Winnifred Whacker sniffed, jingling a charm bracelet the size of a jailer’s handcuffs.

  “You can say that again,” Carolyn Crunch muttered, fingering the loops of pearls around her neck.

  Early raised her hand. “Um, do you have any thoughts to share with us about why that particular group of thirteen things was taken?”

  Immediately there was a buzz of “Racehorses, one of my favorite sketches,” “Always loved that Flinck, so peaceful,” “The Manet, so much the story of writers everywhere,” “That Ku, so rare,” and “My Lord, who wouldn’t want The Concert?”

  “She’s made a valuable point,” Ms. Hussey said politely. “It’s almost as if the thief picked things that all of you especially love.”

  Bam! Bam! A fist thumped on the table. “Outrageous!” Hershel Hurts’s voice was quivering with emotion. “What are you suggesting, young woman?”

  “Now, Hersh,” Mrs. Sharpe said. “Behave yourself. We’re all here to question and comment, aren’t we?”

  At that point, Eagle Devlin leaned forward and said, “Sometimes the most obvious solutions offer the best answers. I mean, a fact is a fact. All of you had keys to the place. Nothing was broken on entering.”

  Zoomy leaned over his notebook and wrote, ~trustees had keys.

  “Oh!” Carolyn Crunch gasped, having seen Zoomy’s entry. “You’ll be suggesting we did the robbery next!

  Calder wasn’t about to make that suggestion — but he noticed that Carolyn Crunch appeared to be the only trustee who was truly shocked by the idea.

  “But that would hardly be logical, would it?” Eagle said smoothly. “Why would a board of devoted trustees endanger the art they love so much?”

  The lineup of old folks shifted uncomfortably in their chairs — this was more a challenge than a question. Ms. Hussey glanced at Eagle with the first glint of friendliness.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “What if someone turns?” he half whispered with the suggestion of a smile.

  Petra stiffened. Had he been listening to their meeting in Powell’s? And where was the red book?

  “What was that, Eagle? Speak up,” Mrs. Sharpe said.

  “Just remembering Sarah Chase Farmer’s feeling that the people in her art came alive,” he said. “Talking about Vermeer’s man.”

  “Indeed,” Monument Cracken said. “And your point?”

  “That it might be true,” he said simply. “And if so, the art may tell us what it knows.”

  “Maybe if we ask it for help,” Early blurted. “I’ve done that before — I mean, with a different kind of art. Not stolen. I mean, not by me, not on purpose — words, not stones —” She broke off, staring at a pileup of diamond bracelets on Carolyn Crunch’s arm with such intensity that the woman slid her arm out of sight and then pushed her chair several inches away from Early’s.

  The room was dead silent for a moment. Petra noticed the old people glancing at one another as if to say, Are these kids dreadful or what?

  Mrs. Sharpe cleared her throat. “Never underestimate this group of five. They have a way of — well, uncovering, identifying, and then utilizing important truths. And in a prime crime —” Mrs. Sharpe sat back, looking for the right word.

  “You need to see what fits,” Calder finished for her, plunging a hand into his pentominoes pocket.

  “Harrumph,” Hurley Stabbler said, as if he wanted to laugh. “Watch your jewels, ladies.” Monument Cracken and Hershel Hurts smiled meanly, and Winnifred Whacker and Carolyn Crunch hunched coats around their necks and pulled gloves over their hands.

  Mrs. Sharpe’s voice now had a hard edge that felt razor-thin. “And in a prime crime,” she finished slowly, “any of us could fit.”

  * * *

  As the group of five kids and two adults — minus Gam, who went by truck — walked awkwardly back toward Hyde Park, Ms. Hussey said coolly, “You don’t have to come with us, Mr. Devlin.”

  “Please — call me Eagle. And I’d like to,” he said in the same tone.

  Calder pulled a pentomino out of his pocket. “N for near. Nowhere. Never.”

  Petra, next to Calder, said quietly, “Yeah. That’s us and the trustees, the stolen art, and William Chase maybe not speaking again. Let’s hope the last one is wrong. We need him to finish his F-A word.”

  Tommy, just behind Calder, said, “N for night.”

  He was remembering a horrible nighttime adventure the three of them had had while they were working to save the Robie House a couple of years ago. He also thought about whoever had robbed the Farmer Museum in the middle of the night, sneaking through those huge, dark rooms filled with people watching from the walls. And then there was old Mr. Chase. Had something happened to him in the middle of the night, a fright that made him have that stroke? Maybe a person whose initials were F. A. had crept into his bedroom, the old man sat up, his face twisted with horror and —

  Tommy jumped as Zoomy blurted, “Seems like most bad things happen in the dark. Like when I heard footsteps near the shed, and when my grandpa’s store burned down.”

  Tommy glanced at his new friend. “Yeah,” he muttered. He’d ask about it another time, when the grown-ups weren’t around.

  “N for nightmare,” Early said, catching up to Calder.

  “N for negligent,” Eagle added.

  Nice voice, Tommy thought. Hope mine ends up that low. Hey, speaking of voices, Ms. Hussey’s awful quiet. Usually she’d be all excited after a visit like this. Seems like Mr. Devlin makes her unhappy. Or is it worried?

  He was so busy turning that over in his mind that he forgot to warn Zoomy about a crater in the sidewalk.

  Tommy grabbed for Zoomy’s arm as he staggered sideways, crashed into a tree, and then boomeranged off Mr. Devlin’s foot. That was when everyone noticed that the man had snakeskin cowboy boots on, boots that didn’t look like they were made for Hyde Park. Boots a boy could slide off.

  As Zoomy straightened his glasses, he bent over to see what he’d stepped on. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “My grandpa would say those were Sunday Best.”

  Mr. Devlin laughed. “Just slippery,” he said.

  “Snakeskin.” Zoomy nodded. “I once found a snake in our garden.”

  “Goes with Medusa,” Early said. “I mean, the snakes on her head.”

  “Like if you didn’t look out, my boots could turn you to stone?” the man asked. “I’ve always liked the idea that eagles can catch snakes,” he said cheerfully.

  “Birds of prey,” Ms. Hussey muttered. “So why hasn’t Mrs. Sharpe ever told me about you?”

  “That’s hard to say,” he replied. He didn’t seem hurt by the question, but he also didn’t answer it.

  There was an uncomfortable silence while Zoomy retied his shoe. It was then that Petra noticed two people with black leather jackets about half a block back. One, a woman, stopped and looked the other way. The other seemed to be digging in his pockets.

  Petra tapped Early on the arm as soon as they were walking again.

  “Seems like those jackets are everywhere these days,” Petra whispered. “But these guys look more like students than anyone scary. Messy hair and high-top sneakers.”

  “Yeah.” Early frowned. “And not the same people as the ones I saw yesterday.”

  Tommy apologized to Zoomy for not spotting the sidewalk tripper, then thought
, Ms. Hussey is right. Who is this Eagle Devlin guy and why haven’t any of us heard about him before? He seems like an okay guy, but not someone to mess with. But then, Ms. Hussey isn’t someone to mess with, either.

  He snuck a sideways look at Mr. Devlin’s feet as they all started walking again. The snakeskin made him think of the tiling on the floor of the Farmer Museum — those large, uneven sections. That meant a very large snake.

  Like in a nightmare, he thought to himself; like the difference between cats and lions, or real blackbirds and the kind that snapped off your nose.

  Ever since Mr. Devlin had turned up, Mother Goose rhymes followed.

  Rhymes even fit primes, Tommy thought. It’s almost like those Goose rhymes are made to work with whatever is going on, like a shadow attached to something alive.

  Tommy’s shivered. Would they also fit with something dead, or left behind — like a ghost? What if Mrs. Farmer was right, and art was alive? And if the art was alive … had it been listening to them today?

  Tommy thought of the man crushed beneath the lion in the courtyard, his mouth open in a silent scream.

  Eagle’s presence made everyone quiet — the kind of quiet that feels loud. The kids breathed a sigh of relief when they got to Mrs. Sharpe’s block.

  “My place for lunch?” Tommy asked the other four. “My mom’s at work. She won’t mind.”

  Ms. Hussey cleared her throat. “Never announce an empty home,” she said, her voice clipped. “Well, I’m off to do some work in my classroom.”

  “My mother’s having lunch with the other trustees today,” Mr. Devlin said. “Won’t you come for lunch, Isabel? And oh! Let me introduce all of you to my cat, Rat-a-tat. He’s visiting, too, since I couldn’t leave him behind in New York.”

  Isabel, Petra thought. I’ll bet she doesn’t like him calling her that.

  A cat that looked more like a small lion with a bushy tail rushed over, meowing loudly. “Thought I’d forgotten about you?” Mr. Devlin asked, and stooped to rub his ears.

  “Awesome name,” Tommy said.

  “Gangstery,” Calder added.

  Both girls reached to pat Rat-a-tat, but he hurried toward Mrs. Sharpe’s front door. Once there, he reared up on his hind legs and rested huge, hairy paws on the wood. Zoomy followed and knelt down, his nose inches away from the cat’s ruff.

  “Hungry boy,” Mr. Devlin said. “Just like me.”

  Tommy wondered, Is that a warning? Like one of them might bite? The cat, ignoring Zoomy, looked back and blinked his green eyes pleasantly.

  “Well?” The man blinked at Ms. Hussey, as if copying his cat. “Ratty and I request the pleasure of your company.”

  Tommy was backing up now. “Guess we’re off. Come on, Zoomy. Later.” He wasn’t sure what else to say with Mr. Devlin there. He also didn’t know whether he should be inviting Ms. Hussey over to eat with them. She never went to their houses, but … there was always a first. Did she need an excuse to say no? But if they invited Ms. Hussey, it would be rude not to include Mr. Devlin. Tommy shuffled his feet, kicking at a pebble.

  “I’ll call you guys later,” Ms. Hussey said, her voice still formal but a bit less tight. “I have some ideas for this investigation.”

  The kids left with a wave and no one looked back, even though they all wanted to. Would Ms. Hussey go inside the house with this guy, and should they be worried?

  Abruptly Zoomy announced, “There’s a collar under all that fur, and it has some kind of communication switch on it. I’ve seen them before. I think it’s the kind that can either record or track, so someone can find you. Does a bunch of things.”

  “So maybe Mr. Devlin’s a spy! And we caught him,” Calder announced.

  “Thanks to sneaky you,” Tommy said to Zoomy, who held up a fist for bumps.

  “Or maybe Mr. Devlin works for Ratty,” Early said.

  “And speaks cat.” Zoomy grinned.

  “Speaking of spies,” Petra said, “shouldn’t we have some private way we can communicate around grown-ups? You know, like a Pig Latin that would let us say stuff and not be understood.”

  They walked the rest of the way to Tommy’s happily trying out codes and forgot, for a moment, all about cats and art and difficult adults.

  A shiny black car with a driver slid slowly down the block behind the five. As they ducked in the back door of the Robie House, an old hand covered with rings pointed in their direction. Another old hand, also in the backseat, waved through the air as if to say, How could you think of such a thing? Not that!

  The hands flew to left and right, chopping the air as the car sped off.

  * * *

  “Whinigo winigants binigalinigo — yipes! — ninigeinigy sinigandwinigi — whoa! — chiniges finigor linigunch?” Tommy asked, unlocking his door. “Man, I sound brainy,” he panted. “And talking that way takes all day.”

  “Inigi dinigo!” Zoomy shouted.

  “This would look plenty confusing if we wrote it down, but if we can speed up and say it fast, it’ll be close to uncrackable.” Petra practically skipped into Tommy’s apartment.

  “Yeah, it’s awesome even when we’re beginners,” Early said. “If we practice and get smoother, we’ll be chinigampinigi — wait — inigon spinigiiniges!”

  “Not to leave out Ms. Hussey, just the police or Mr. Devlin or the trustees. Whinigen winige ninigeiniged tinigo kinigeinigep iniga sinigecriniget. Oooh, I love it!” Petra purred, plopping down next to Goldman. “Now we’re talkin’, we could take this iniganinigywhinigerinige.”

  “And it even works with pinigentinigominigin — oh, man! this’ll take me all week — inigoiniges. Scinigaz!” Calder crowed. “That word’s gotta be longer than the alphabet.”

  “Okay, it seems like we’ve gotten through some firsts today. How about linigunch?” Tommy asked. He brought a package of baloney, a jar of mayonnaise, bread, chips, pickles, and butter knives on the table. “Help yourselves. And Zoomy and Early: We three always had some kind of trinigeinigat when we needed a pat on the back during other adventures. Like, blue M&M’S, red gummy fish, or chocolate. Anyone got an idea for what the five of us can use?”

  “I do!” Zoomy said immediately, his mouth already full. “Beans! Dilly beans. Gam’s always got a big jar in the truck. Won’t cost us a penny.”

  “But don’t those make you finigart?” Petra said.

  Calder laughed and a piece of baloney shot out of his mouth and into Goldman’s bowl.

  “Scaz, you knucklehead!” Tommy shouted. He reached for the runaway baloney just as Goldman swallowed it. “Now it’ll be all your fault if he turns into a carnivore. He may start trying to eat my fingers! He may jump out of his bowl and launch an attack while I’m asleep!”

  Goldman burped and a large bubble rose to the surface.

  “Hey, that gives me an idea,” Calder said. “I wonder if the trustees were really fighting? Maybe they were just feeding us that idea. Like it was all baloney, ha.”

  “But Early and I heard them fighting before you guys got there,” Petra pointed out. “And they’re on two sides of the moving question, so of course their fight is real.”

  “But they all want the art found,” Zoomy said.

  “Not if one of them has a reason to feel guilty,” Early said slowly. “Maybe they’re more together on all this than they want us to know. We overheard someone mention an ‘event’ they’d all talked about or planned. Maybe one of them did something stupid, like lend their museum key to a person who shouldn’t have been trusted, and now they’re covering it up. At least, in public.”

  “But Mrs. Sharpe — she wouldn’t have anything to do with stealing the art!” Petra protested. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. And besides, she wouldn’t fool Ms. Hussey, would she?”

  “I don’t think Ms. Hussey knew that Eagle Devlin even existed before he showed up this week,” Early said. “That means Mrs. Sharpe never mentioned him.”

  Petra still felt as though she needed to defend Mrs. Sharpe. “So i
t’s not like she lied, but she definitely kept a big secret.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Sharpe is protecting her son,” Calder said. “Even if she’s not sure she needs to. Or maybe it’s Ms. Hussey she’s been protecting, and she didn’t want her to meet or even know about that Devlin guy!”

  “Yeah,” Zoomy said. “Maybe he’s trouble.”

  “It feels like all of those adults with us in the room today, all eight, were hiding things,” Calder said. “Even if they didn’t want to, like Ms. Hussey. She was pretty weird this morning. Not so open.”

  “You mean, like they know stuff they haven’t shared with the police.” Early put down her half-eaten sandwich. “And maybe the guys in black jackets are undercover.”

  “I hope they’re on our side,” Tommy said. “Because they seem to be around wherever we are. It’s like someone told them to keep an eye on us.”

  Early looked worried. “If that’s true, how do we figure out if they’re good guys? I mean, who do we know is a hundred percent on our side? I guess Ms. Hussey is, but she’s also on Mrs. Sharpe’s side.”

  “Goldman,” Tommy said. “And Sarah Chase Farmer, if you believe in ghosts.” Tommy braced himself for questions, but no one asked.

  “Good thing we can trust each other up close, with all these deeps,” Zoomy said.

  “What are ‘deeps’?” Calder asked.

  “Everything that’s past the end of your arm. Everything that’s blurry,” Zoomy replied comfortably. “Like deep water.”

  “I like that,” Early murmured, eating again.

  “Me, too,” Petra said. “Kind of perfect for right now.”

  Goldman nodded and dove for his deeps as Tommy glanced out the window, wondering how Zoomy could both see less and catch more. Maybe deeps could be both bad and good, like so much else that was going on.

  Tommy thought suddenly about that silvery laugh in the Farmer. There had been five kids and ten adults … and a whole lot of deeps.

  Maybe there’d been more people out of sight — hidden in the deeps — just as there might have been in Powell’s.

  “It’s hard to know what you can’t see — like, who’s there but not visible and who’s invisible but still there,” Calder said suddenly, and Tommy elbowed him.